


Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms (I Cannot Rest)

by EvanesDust, flymeofftoneverland



Series: AU: FIRST MEETINGS [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angry Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claiming Bites, Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Derek Hale Returns, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Explicit Sexual Content, Feral Derek Hale, Hunting and Providing, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Omega Stiles Stilinski, POV Stiles Stilinski, Possessive Derek Hale, Protective Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, forced bite, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/pseuds/EvanesDust, https://archiveofourown.org/users/flymeofftoneverland/pseuds/flymeofftoneverland
Summary: It’s been two years since Derek returned and, so far, he’s kept his promise. He's never left again. But, as far as Stiles is concerned, he might as well have never come back.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: AU: FIRST MEETINGS [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1184156
Comments: 59
Kudos: 792
Collections: Sterek Goodness, Sterek Reverse Quickie 2020, Teen wolf





	Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms (I Cannot Rest)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aceriee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceriee/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Art for ‘Until I wrap myself inside your arms (I cannot rest)‘](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451960) by [Aceriee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceriee/pseuds/Aceriee). 



> this work was written as part of the Sterek Reverse Bang 2020
> 
> all art by the wonderfully talented Aceriee, along with the prompt: alpha Derek together with Stiles who’s covered in blood holding a dead rabbit
> 
> thank you to my dear emily for all your help and holding my hand as we ventured through this fic together 🦊💗🐺
> 
> *what even is a 'comma'? as always… all mistakes are my own*  
> *also tags… tags are hard :/ so if anything is missing please lemme know*

__

_(six years ago)_

Stiles lies in his bed with one arm tucked behind his head while the other picks at his sheets. He stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Derek helped him stick to the ceiling just last week. It’s midnight—three hours past his bedtime—but he can’t sleep. Not when Derek is leaving in the morning. 

Ever since his father and Derek sat him down to break the news, he’s felt shattered and _lost_. Derek may be four years older than him, but they’ve always been incredibly close—to the point where their families used to joke that they were attached to each other with Velcro. 

Stiles has always considered Derek to be his best friend. He literally doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t completely enamored with the older boy—always wiggling his way onto Derek’s lap when they watched a movie or sneaking under Derek’s covers when he had a bad dream during one of their sleepovers. He would even steal food off of Derek’s plate instead of getting up for seconds. And even though Derek was famously possessive of his food, he’d never so much as bat an eye when Stiles would reach for his dish. In fact, he always pushed his plate closer so Stiles wouldn’t have to reach.

The two of them have always shared a connection—an unbreakable, impenetrable bond. Most of the time, they don’t even have to speak to understand each other. Stiles is fluent in reading Derek’s eyebrows and scowls, while Derek can easily tell when one of Stiles's crooked grins doesn’t reach his eyes like it normally does whenever they're together. They'll often share a look across the room and immediately know what the other one is thinking. Benefits of knowing someone since birth, he supposes.

Once, when Stiles was eight, he’d had an awful cold and accidentally took too much cough medicine while his mom was warming up a can of soup for him in the kitchen. By the time Derek stopped by to check on him, Stiles's smile was lazy and his filter was shot. He’d clumsily climbed into Derek’s lap, wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, fixed him with a glassy-eyed gaze, and, in as serious a voice as he could muster, proclaimed that they were going to get married when they were older. He’d promptly fallen asleep moments later, and Derek held him for the next four hours as Stiles drooled all over his shoulder. If Stiles's mother were still alive, she’d probably still be making jokes about planning their wedding.

It’s only been two years since her death. His whole world had shattered in a matter of seconds, but Derek and the Hales had been there to help him and his father through it all. Derek let Stiles sit on his lap and cry into his neck during the funeral, and carried Stiles away when he couldn’t bring himself to leave her grave. 

Talia and Sebastian would stop by every morning with freshly-made food, while Laura and Cora would help keep the house clean and tidy. But none of them could hold a candle to Derek, who had basically moved in with the Stilinskis for the first two months after his mom’s death. Any time Stiles would wake up screaming from a nightmare about his mother, it was to Derek’s soothing murmurs and comforting grip around his waist. On the days Stiles couldn’t bring himself to even leave his bed, Derek would stay with him, rubbing his back and offering silent support. 

It took a full year before Stiles finally felt like himself again—like he was finally on stable ground—and it would have been impossible without Derek. 

But now it’s like his heart is being ripped out of his chest yet again. 

At twelve years old, Stiles has known more pain than a child ever should.

Derek’s entire family was killed just days ago, and Stiles thought that he and Derek would go through this together—like when his mom died. But not only did he lose his second family, now he’s losing Derek, too. 

There’s a knock on his door, but Stiles doesn’t bother getting up to open it or even ask who it is. His dad is working the late shift, so there’s only one person it could be. 

Stiles stares pointedly at the ceiling when the door opens to reveal Derek’s large frame—nothing but a silhouette against the yellow light in the hall. He finally casts a perfunctory glance his way and is saddened by the closed-off expression on Derek’s face. It’s not one that he’s used to being on the receiving end of. In fact, despite how reserved and closed-off Derek is around most people, Stiles is only used to Derek looking at him with pure, unadulterated adoration and devotion. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Derek says, voice low and rough. Stiles immediately recognizes it as Derek’s attempt to choke down his emotions and appear unbothered. But he knows Derek better than anyone. Derek can’t hide from him. And Stiles can clearly identify the raw heartbreak that’s tearing his best friend apart from the seams. Stiles frowns, seeing Derek’s broken expression, even in the dim light. This is exactly why Derek shouldn’t leave. Derek has always been one to isolate himself and detach from others when he’s upset, but Stiles has always been the exception. Until now it seems. Stiles feels Derek pulling away and it’s killing him. 

But like a petulant child, Stiles is determined not to let Derek see how much he’s hurting and lashes out in anger. “Aren’t you supposed to be packing?” 

The effort proves to be futile, however, and really, Stiles should have known it wouldn’t work. Derek has always been able to read him like a book, and it has nothing to do with him being a werewolf. 

They’ve always been attuned to one another’s emotions. Even if Stiles was alone in his bed across town from the Hale house, Derek always knew if he was upset. Stiles stopped keeping track of how many times Derek would suddenly appear in his window frame, stepping into his room with practiced ease, whenever Stiles would so much as whimper.

Additionally, any time Derek would have a bad day at school or started to pull away from his family when he was feeling particularly down, Stiles would know. He could always _feel_ Derek’s angst and misery, and would ride his bike straight to the Hale house. In fact, after the second time Stiles showed up at their door, panting and frantic, Talia started leaving the front door unlocked, so Stiles wouldn’t have to knock before racing up the stairs and throwing himself into Derek’s waiting and desperate embrace. 

Their parents had always explained that part of the reason for their intense and unwavering connection was due to the bond that they’re supposed to share as emissary and alpha. Except Stiles isn’t an emissary. In fact, now that Derek is leaving, he’ll probably never be one. He’ll never feel the depth of the bond that his mom shared with alpha Hale. All the times he and Derek used to practice magic and shifting together were for naught—not that he cares about that right now. 

Not when it feels like someone is reaching into his chest and tearing his heart out. No. Right now, his best friend is leaving and his chest already feels hollow and gaping. 

“You’re mad.” Derek sighs and walks over. Stiles feels the bed dip when he sits on the edge. 

Stiles finally turns on his side, giving Derek his full attention, and takes a deep breath so his voice doesn’t shake. His whole body is already vibrating with how hard he’s holding himself back from crawling onto Derek’s lap. “I still don’t understand why you’re leaving.”

“I don’t have a pack, Stiles.” 

“How can you say that?” Stiles hisses, eyes burning. “You have _me_ , Derek. And dad.” Stiles watches as Derek reaches a large hand out. He expects the familiar warmth of Derek’s palm to engulf his smaller hand, but Derek’s fingers stop short. His fingers flex and clench into a fist, clearly holding himself back from comforting Stiles with a soothing touch.

“You’re _twelve_ , Stiles. And I’m only sixteen. We’re just kids,” Derek sighs, running a hand through his hair. “And yeah, I might have you and your dad, but I’m not ready to lead a pack. I'm not ready to be an alpha." 

“You won’t even try!” Stiles protests, before clamping his mouth shut. He didn’t mean to yell. The last thing he wants to do is add to Derek’s stress and guilt. “ _Fuck!_ I’m sorry, Derek.”

“You shouldn’t curse, Stiles,” Derek chides, though there’s no real heat behind his words. Stiles knows it’s Derek’s attempt to lighten the mood since he knows Derek doesn’t actually care. In fact, he was the one who’d taught Stiles his first curse word. “You’re too young.” 

“I’m almost thirteen, Derek,” Stiles huffs, not taking the bait.

“You _just_ turned twelve, Stiles,” Derek says, lips upturned in the barest of smiles before sighing defeatedly because Stiles is still sulking miserably. Stiles hates how despondent and worn Derek sounds. He hates that he can’t help. 

“I _am_ trying, Stiles. That’s why I’m leaving. There’s—There’s a pack further north that’s going to help me.” 

Stiles already knows all this. He’d already heard all the logical explanations thrown at him when his father and Derek broke the news. After Derek’s family was killed by hunters, he inherited the alpha power from his mother. Stiles knows that it hasn’t been an easy transition—that Derek has already been struggling to control his new abilities without training, despite inheriting it just two days ago. Stiles knows all this. He does. But right now, logic can go screw itself.

_It’s not fair!_

“What about me?” Stiles’s voice comes out small, cracking on the last word. He watches as Derek’s stony exterior finally crumbles and he reaches out, gathering Stiles in a fiercely protective embrace. 

Stiles thinks back to the time he fell off of his scooter when he was five and scraped his knee on the asphalt. He wailed, letting out a broken scream the second his tiny body had made contact with the ground. Derek had been there, _was always there_ , immediately scooping him up in his arms, pulling Stiles’s pain, and lapping his tongue over the wound—his supernatural saliva acting as a healing agent. He held Stiles tight, and begged him not to cry—said it was heartbreaking to see him so upset.

Stiles only cried in front of Derek a few more times after that—most of which were after his mom died. But _now_? Well, _now_ , Stiles can’t hold back. Not when his best friend—his _Derek_ —is leaving him. 

“It won’t be forever, Stiles. I’ll come back for you. I promise,” Derek soothes, as Stiles‘s eyes begin to sting from unshed tears.

“Why can’t I come with you?” Stiles asks around a sniffle. “I’ll be good, Derek, I swear! You won’t even notice I’m there.” He knows his tone is getting desperate and pleading, but he can’t help it right now—not when he’s on the verge of losing the most important person in his life. 

Derek tightens his embrace, inhaling shakily. “Stiles. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

The sting of Derek’s rejection penetrates him like a serrated blade lodging itself in his jugular. 

“You don’t want me,” he announces numbly. It’s not a question. He already knows the answer. He’s sure of it. The only reason Derek won’t take him with him is if he doesn’t want him there. Stiles nods stiffly before pushing against Derek’s chest and trying to dislodge himself from Derek’s grip.

Derek immediately tightens his hold before Stiles can untangle their limbs. “Hey, no. _No_. Don’t do that. Don’t pull away. Not from me.” Derek leans back marginally, taking Stiles’s face in both of his hands. “Of course I want you to come with me, Stiles.”

“But—“

Derek gently shushes him before he can continue. “ _But_ , we both know I can’t. As much as I’m going to miss you, as much as I’m going to _hate_ being apart from you, I have to do this on my own.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and inhales shakily. “Why is this so hard, Derek? Why do I feel like this? Like the world is ending?” Stiles whispers, cheeks heating up in shame. He’s always had a hard time being apart from Derek—had cried for a full week the one time his parents thought it would be a good idea to spend Stiles’s spring break in Hawaii—but this is different. His lungs feel like they’re filled with gravel and he’s sure that a boulder has lodged itself in his throat. His stomach swoops like it did the first time he ever flew on a plane and the turbulence caused a swift drop. Except this isn’t one week in Hawaii. This is his whole world ending.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Derek soothes, sounding just as broken as Stiles feels. “I know you don’t understand what’s going on right now, but I promise I’ll explain everything when you’re older.” 

Derek keeps his hold on Stiles as he maneuvers them so he’s lying back and Stiles is blanketing him. Derek silently rubs Stiles’s back and starts a soothing rumble from deep in his chest, sending comforting vibrations through Stiles’s body as he clings to Derek’s shirt with his fists. 

Despite his heartbreak, Stiles is only twelve and the stress of the day finally catches up to him. He’s so exhausted that he doesn’t realize he’s falling asleep until Derek pulls the blanket over their bodies, cocooning him in warmth until sleep finally overtakes him.

* * *

The lazy morning sun filters through Stiles’s curtains, warming his feet and neck where they peek out from under the covers. His heart beats in sync with Derek’s and he’s completely at peace. For a few moments, everything is perfect—his mom is downstairs making them pancakes with chocolate chip smiley faces, and the Hales are back at their house, getting ready for the weekly pack dinner that night. Stiles is going to spend the morning tucked in Derek’s side, giggling as the older boy rumbles loudly enough to tickle Stiles with the vibrations. It’s everything Stiles has ever wanted.

Then he wakes up. 

Stiles’s breath catches in his throat and Derek stiffens below him.

“No,” Stiles whispers, balling his hands in Derek’s shirt and clinging to him as tightly as he can. 

“Stiles—“ Derek starts but is quickly cut off.

“No. _No!_ You can’t go, Der! You _can’t_!” Stiles begs, voice breaking on the last word. He tightens his hold and buries his face in Derek’s chest. If only he were bigger and stronger, he could physically stop Derek from leaving. 

It’s stupid and futile to think that would stop anything. He sags against Derek’s chest and weeps as Derek clutches him fiercely, whispering promises of reunions and monthly visits. Once Stiles finally calms down, Derek lifts him with practiced ease, carrying him downstairs to the kitchen. His dad’s already there preparing a hearty spread of eggs, breakfast meats, fresh fruit, and pastries from Stiles’s favorite bakery. 

Stiles hates the fact that, despite it being _Derek_ who’s uprooting his life this morning, they’re coddling _him_. 

Derek sets him at the table and moves around the kitchen with the practiced ease of someone who’s spent half their life in this house, as he fixes their plates. Stiles can’t help but imagine how different things are going to be without him. It proves to be a mistake because his mood immediately sours even further. 

His sadness is overshadowed by fury and, when Derek comes back to the table and places their food down, Stiles punches him in the chest. The words ‘ _I hate you_ ’ bubble to the surface, but he has enough mind not to spew them out. He does, however, kick and slides off his chair, running towards the stairs. 

Derek’s arms wrap around him tightly before he even makes it close. 

“Stiles—” Derek begs helplessly, but Stiles cuts him off.

“I’m not saying goodbye!” He thrashes in Derek’s arms, trying to get away. If he doesn’t say it, then maybe Derek _can’t_ leave. 

“ _Kiddo_.” His dad walks over, clasps a hand on his shoulder, and fixes him with a pleading look, and, all at once, the fight in him evaporates.

Stiles sags in Derek’s arms and doesn’t have it in him to protest when Derek carries him back to the table and carefully eases him back into his seat. His dad pushes the still-steaming plate of food in front of him, but Stiles can’t even think about eating. He pushes it away and stares at his fisted hands in his lap. 

“Stiles, _please_ ,” Derek begs.

Derek’s eyes beseech him, but Stiles just shakes his head fervently. “M’not hungry.” 

“You need to eat, kiddo.” His dad sits across from them and gestures to Stiles’s plate. 

Instead, Stiles slips from his seat and climbs on Derek’s lap, burying his face in the crook of his neck and taking big, desperate gulps of his natural scent. Derek wraps his arms around him and rubs his back, purring soothingly. Stiles can’t help but relax in the embrace, closing his eyes and letting the vibrations of Derek’s purring wash over him like a warm bath.

Derek’s fangs distend and Stiles feels a gentle pressure as Derek wraps his jaw around Stiles’s neck and whines longingly. Stiles doesn’t know what it means, but it’s something Derek has always done whenever they’ve been apart for too long. It never leaves a mark, but Stiles wishes it did. Something about being marked by Derek feels _right_ , though he doesn’t know why. Suddenly, realization crashes over him like a tsunami. Derek’s not just his best friend. He’s his future. 

Just because he’s twelve doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what love is. Stiles saw it with his parents and even with Derek’s. He feels it lighting his heart on fire, warming every fiber of his being.

He’s in love with Derek. 

But Derek is still leaving and Stiles needs to try and be strong right now. He focuses on the fact that this needs to be a stress-free and painless transition for Derek. 

Despite feeling nauseous and numb, he forces himself to swallow a few bites of Derek’s eggs, regardless of the fact that he can’t taste any of it while he ignores the sharp, bitter bile threatening to rise in his throat. 

After breakfast, Stiles clings to Derek like a koala, refusing to let go as Derek gathers his suitcases with his free hand to meet his dad by the curb. 

They all watch as a sleek, black, foreign car pulls up in front of the house. The driver pops the trunk and stays inside as they say their goodbyes.

Derek squeezes Stiles closer before patting his butt, a clear signal that it’s time to let go. Stiles slides down and stands off to the side. His dad helps Derek load his bags into the car and gives Derek a firm hug when they’re done. 

Derek steps up to Stiles and cups Stiles’s head in his hands, trying to get him to look up. 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek whines.

Stiles clenches his jaw and shakes his head, trying to ward off the hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He can’t do this. It’s too hard. 

After a few more moments without a reaction, Derek sighs sadly and pulls Stiles into a firm embrace. 

As much as his body is screaming at him to lean into Derek’s warm touch, Stiles continues to stand stiffly, knowing that if he gives in to his instincts, he’ll never let go.

Derek pulls back, clearing his throat—a nervous habit Stiles knows he only does when he’s trying not to get too emotional.

“Just go,” Stiles mumbles monotonically, looking anywhere but at Derek. He needs to detach or he’s going to break. 

Stiles can feel Derek’s eyes boring into him before he finally nods and steps into the waiting car. Stiles steps next to his dad, who immediately puts an arm around him. 

As the car starts to pull away, Stiles’s resolve crumbles into ash. His heart stops as he watches the shiny sedan head down their quiet suburban road. Stiles lurches forward suddenly, breaking out of his dad’s grip, and chases after Derek’s retreating figure in the backseat. 

“No! Don't go, Derek! Don't leave me! Please! Don't go! Take me with you! Don't leave me!" Stiles wails, running as fast as his small legs will take him. 

He locks eyes with Derek through the rear window. Despite Derek’s famous ability to control his wolf and keep his instincts at bay, Stiles notices that he’s partially shifted—fangs tearing through his gums, and pained red eyes boring into Stiles’s.

“ _Derek!_ ” Stiles screams one final time before his legs finally give out. 

A second later, the car drives over the horizon and out of Stiles’s line of sight. Derek’s gone.

Stiles doesn’t leave his bed for the next two weeks. 

* * *

_(present-day)_

Stiles strides through the preserve with his trusty bat slung over his shoulder. It’s ten o’clock at night and the sharp, crisp chill of the October winds pierces his skin like knives. While the mighty amber moon does its best to illuminate the inky black sky, it remains mostly hidden behind the dense cloak of trees, and Stiles is left to stumble in the shadows. He’s not worried about tripping though. Not with Derek walking beside him—seemingly hyper-award of every one of Stiles’s steps. Though the two of them have had a tempestuous relationship since Derek returned, Stiles still trusts Derek implicitly. 

To Stiles, the gaping wound of Derek’s departure still stings his heart like a wasp—still drains his lungs of oxygen when he lets himself think about it for too long. It feels like just yesterday that Derek left. The pain and resentment fester like a fresh wound. Stiles knows Derek had no choice but to leave, but it felt like a betrayal. Like he was abandoned by the one person he had trusted to never, _ever_ , hurt him. 

At first, Stiles thought that he would at least see Derek _occasionally_ , but he never came. Never showed up—even for the important stuff. There were no surprise visits during the holidays, or on his birthday. Not even a phone call. Not even a _card_. Eventually, Stiles hardened. He closed himself off to everyone except his dad and Scott, a friend he’d made a few months before the fire. 

Even Deaton had tried to get through to him, reminding him of the promise that was made to his mother—an unfair tactic that might have worked had it not been for the fact that Stiles didn’t have a pack. There was no point in growing and nurturing his spark without a pack or alpha. 

And then, one day, when he was sixteen, a rogue alpha ran rampant through the streets of Beacon Hills, terrorizing its citizens. Scott was an unfortunate casualty. The alpha had bitten him, left him for dead, until Stiles snuck him back to his bedroom and watched as his best friend convulsed and thrashed, wailing in pain, until, finally, he transformed into a werewolf. After Scott’s transformation, Stiles worried that he would have to help him figure everything out on his own, staying up until obscene hours to research the supernatural world.

But then, Derek was there—standing stoically as he calmly presented Scott with all the information he could possibly need to be a successful werewolf. Scott was grateful. Stiles was numb. It was impossible to look at Derek. He felt sick. Part of him wanted to scream and protest—to cry out his pain and tear Derek apart like he tore Stiles apart. But then. Then, there was a bigger part. A part that wanted nothing more than to run over to the stiff, hardened man in front of him, wrap his arms around him in a desperate embrace, and never let go.

Except, he didn’t do either. Instead, he stood off to the side, ignoring the occasional looks Derek shot his way. He knew they didn’t mean anything, though. Derek wasn’t exactly warm towards him anymore. In fact, he seemed to hold Stiles at arm's length. The loving, gentle boy that used to clutch Stiles to him like a vice and whisper tender promises into his hair had left a long time ago. And, just as quickly as Derek appeared, he was gone again. 

Stiles only cried for an hour that time.

Not long after that, Stiles ran into him again. Stiles’s acrid bitterness seeped through the moment he found out Derek had chosen to turn three of his classmates—Isaac, Erica, and Boyd—in an attempt to rebuild the Hale pack to its former glory. Apparently, Stiles wasn’t of any use to him. Derek didn’t want him. But, then again, Stiles already knew that from the first time Derek left. 

It still didn’t lessen the searing burn of Derek’s rejection the second time.

Or the third, when Derek came back to help with a kanima attack. 

The split-second, freeze-frame moments haunted Stiles’s dreams—each brief interaction permanently carved into his brain. He couldn’t shake him. His heart felt like it had been branded with a stinging, angry, beautiful, burning fire. Every time a rogue supernatural creature burst into town, Derek was there…and Stiles wanted nothing more than for him to stay. 

Needless to say, it was a shock when Derek showed up on his front porch, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark jeans and a frown on his face, one misty September morning before school. Before Stiles could ask why he was there, Derek told him he was returning. For good this time. Stiles scoffed and narrowed his eyes at the sky, wondering why Derek would be cruel enough to tease him like this. 

Stiles refused to believe him. Even after listening to Derek explain that, now that his pack was growing and he felt more confident as an alpha, it was finally time to come home and reclaim his territory. 

Stiles listened out of courtesy but remained stiff and closed-off. Once Derek was done speaking, Stiles checked his watch and calmly informed Derek that he needed to leave for school. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like disappointment flashed across Derek’s features, but he quickly schooled his expression into a mask of indifference, nodded, and left. Stiles wasn’t even surprised when Derek didn’t offer him a ride. 

After that, Stiles made a conscious effort to avoid him—not that Derek was making an effort to come around, anyway. 

Derek’s betas, on the other hand, were unavoidable. They always seemed to be around, now that they had returned to school. They were always there—whether it was in class, in the lunchroom, or when he was out with Scott. 

On one occasion, Stiles had been headed to the diner to pick up a mildly healthy dinner for him and his dad—he’d shovel the curly fries in his mouth on the car ride back before his dad ever knew—when he saw something that made him stop dead in his tracks. Just as Stiles had rounded the corner, his eyes were drawn to a crowded booth. _Derek_.

There he was, with all his betas, _laughing_. Stiles’s breath got caught in his throat. He hadn’t seen Derek laugh since before the fire. Part of him wanted to reach in through the glass and run his hands over the endearing crinkles by Derek’s eyes, but another, larger, part of him was furious. Stiles has spent the last four years growing more miserable, more isolated, and more hardened because of Derek’s abrupt departure, and here he was—fucking _laughing_.

_Fuck him_. _Fuck him for being so happy while Stiles cried himself to sleep every night for the better part of four years_.

Part of Stiles had always at least taken some comfort in the fact that Derek was probably feeling the pain of their separation too, but clearly, that was just another one of Stiles’s little fantasies—like when he used to stare out his classroom windows, imagining Derek suddenly showing up and deciding to bring Stiles back to him.

But that never happened. And, instead of missing Stiles, Derek had clearly been thriving during their separation—a fact made evident by the sight of Derek currently in front of him—all loose and light and happy and carefree. 

Stiles lost track of how long he’d been staring, but, when Derek’s eyes suddenly bore into his own, he wasn’t laughing anymore. Stiles inhaled shakily and watched as a small, concerned frown took over Derek’s face. All of the betas turned together to look in his direction, and the movement snapped Stiles out of his trance. He blinked and hurried back to his Jeep. He wasn’t hungry anymore, anyway.

A week later, Stiles walked into his dad’s office, clutching a nutritional lunch of chicken salad lettuce wraps that he’d assembled himself. 

“Hey, dad! I brought you lun—” Stiles froze the second he walked through the door. Derek was already there. Already eating lunch with _his dad_. In _his chair_. It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.

His dad, clearly not noticing that anything was wrong, smiled brightly, damn near _beaming_ at him when he gestured towards Derek—who was now staring at Stiles intensely. “Hey, kiddo! Look who I found!”

Stiles dropped the bag of food, balled his fists by his side, clenched his jaw, and fixed Derek with a poisonous glare before spitting out a seething, “Fuck you.”

Seriously, fuck Derek for trying to insert himself back in their lives after disappearing for almost five years.

Stiles ignored his dad calling his name out as he turned on his heels, slamming the door on his way out. He spent the entire drive home wiping away the furious tears that burnt his cheeks.

Three days later, his dad had invited Derek for dinner and forced Stiles to apologize, reminding him that Claudia would have wanted them to at least be civil with one another. After that, Stiles had no choice but to agree to a truce. 

It’s been two years since Derek returned and, so far, he’s kept his promise. He's never left again. But, as far as Stiles is concerned, he might as well have never come back.

At least that way, Stiles could still pretend like Derek had actually missed him while he was gone.

“So. Don’t suppose they came for fashion advice, do ya?” he asks, voice echoing through the eerie silence of the preserve. “Maybe they need Isaac’s opinion on which scarves to wear in seventy degrees weather.”

“Ha. Ha.” Isaac deadpans. 

There’s a pinecone chucked at Stiles’s head, courtesy of said beta, he’s sure. He holds one hand out and clenches his eyes in concentration. As his focus centralizes on his goal, his palm lights up, brightening the area around them. Suddenly, a pinecone levitates in front of him. He swings his bat with perfect form and hits it as hard as he can. The pinecone shoots forward before stopping in mid-air and swings back like a boomerang. 

He smiles when Isaac yells out behind him, rubbing the back of his head. “Hey! Unfair use of magic!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles blows on his palm, dispelling the light. “You’re just jealous you’re not all cool and magical like me.”

As they banter, Stiles drifts closer to Isaac. Just when their arms brush, Derek growls. Stiles rolls his eyes and scoffs. It’s not the first time that Derek has acted possessive of him, and it’s frustrating as hell. Stiles narrows his eyes as he fixes Derek with an exacerbated stare. “Are you seriously mad that I’m getting close to your pack, Derek?”

“ _Our_ pack,” Derek reminds him firmly. 

Stiles stops in his tracks and turns towards him. “Really? I don’t remember being asked for my opinion when you decided to turn three of my classmates. Definitely wouldn’t have picked baby-face over here. Seriously, who wears scarves in the summer? No offense, Isaac.”

He doesn’t have time to examine the pained look that crosses Derek’s face before another pinecone hits his head. “ _Ow!_ ”

“That’s enough!” Derek commands, flashing his eyes at Isaac. He grabs Stiles’s arm—gentle, yet firm—and starts pulling him through the woods. “No more games. We need to split up. Isaac, Erica, Boyd, see what you can sniff out. We need to find this pack. Quickly.”

The pack disperses hurriedly, leaving Stiles alone with Derek—as always. Derek almost always orders them split up during their excursions, but everyone still hears Derek’s unspoken words: _except for Stiles_. His spot is always by Derek’s side—though he can’t imagine why. Boyd’s stronger, Erica’s more vicious, and Isaac’s faster. Stiles is a useless liability. Besides, it’s not like he and Derek get along anymore, anyway. Derek just chose Stiles as his emissary because the only other option was Deaton, and he’s too busy with the clinic. Derek’s reluctance was clear as day when he’d begrudgingly asked Stiles to accept the post. He’s sure that if Derek could pick someone else, he would.

It makes for long, tense walks where he has no choice but to fill the silence with strained attempts at idle chatter. Like right now. “Bet you wish Scott was here, huh? Another nose to—”

“No,” Derek answers gruffly. “Scott has an important exam in the morning. He offered to drive down, but I told him not to.” Stiles believes him. Derek’s always encouraged them to prioritize their education over minor pack issues. In fact, if any of the other betas had a test, they probably wouldn’t be here either.

Derek probably wishes he hadn’t had to call any of them in the first place, but there was a rumor of a werewolf pack heading towards Beacon Hills—one that seemed all too interested in Stiles. It’s not the first time that a foreign pack tried to challenge Derek for ownership of Stiles—however, the occurrences dropped drastically once Derek officially claimed Stiles as his emissary. 

Once, when Erica had broken her ankle after the third rogue pack’s attempt to challenge the Hale pack for him, Stiles had begged Derek to let him handle it himself. He couldn’t stand to see his friends get hurt—especially because of _him_. 

Stiles is just a human—it’s not like he’s an integral part of their makeshift team of bad-guy fighters, anyway. 

When Stiles voiced those very concerns to him, however, Derek lost it—partially shifting and storming towards Stiles. He wrapped a clawed hand around Stiles’s collar and pulled him forward so they were only centimeters apart and fixed Stiles with the most intense crimson-eyed gaze Stiles had ever seen. “ _Don’t_. Don’t you ever say that again. You’re pack. You’re _mine_. I will _always_ fight for you. We all will.” 

With that, Derek had released his hold on Stiles’s shirt and stalked up the stairs in his loft. It was the most emotion Derek had shown for him since he’d returned. 

Despite their tumultuous relationship, Stiles knows he belongs by Derek’s side. He was born as the future Hale emissary and, even though he and Derek aren’t as close as they once were in their youth, their bond has never wavered. Stiles belongs here. With Derek. 

“ _So_ …” Stiles starts, drawing out the word. “I thought once we said the magic words and you finally accepted me as your—” Derek sucks in a sharp breath and Stiles pauses, shooting him a questioning look— “emissary, that other packs would stop trying to force me to join them?”

Derek grunts. “You would think.” 

He abruptly turns on his heel and stomps off, leaving Stiles to wait for an explanation that never comes. “Words, sourwolf. They’re pretty useful. You should try them sometime.”

Stiles sighs before tromping after him, using his sneakers to crunch the dry leaves that blanket the ground below him. It’s only a few seconds before he catches up to Derek and immediately scoffs. “No, _please_ ,” he starts, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t feel like you have to slow down for m—”

Stiles immediately clicks his jaw shut when Derek abruptly stops in his tracks and tilts his head to the side, clearly listening for something. Something Stiles hopes to God is just a cute bunny, but, with his luck, is yet another horrifyingly entitled alpha douche that they’ll have to spend the night fighting off.

Stiles is tempted to ask questions, but he knows better than to make noise right now. It’s more than a little unnerving that another pack is so close and his wards didn’t go off, so he makes a mental note to check them. 

Derek suddenly stiffens and sweeps an arm out—essentially shoving Stiles behind him—and lets his eyes shift, illuminating the darkness with an eerie red tint. There’s rustling in the trees, and Stiles knows the pack is approaching. 

Derek assumes a protective stance in front of him and snarls madly. The sound reverberates through the preserve and before the new pack is even in sight, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are at Derek’s side, effectively creating a wall between Stiles and the oncoming threat. 

Stiles shoves a hand in his pocket, scooping a fistful of the mountain ash he always keeps on hand. If anything gets too out of control, he’ll drop a ring of it around them. Sure, it’ll probably piss Derek off, but Stiles’s job is to keep the pack safe and he’ll be damned if he just stands by and does nothing just to spare Derek’s ego. 

The alpha is the first to show himself. Stiles is normally not one to judge a book by its cover, but this guy just exudes _douche_. The guy’s smarmy red eyes take over his body, and Stiles can’t help but to shiver and step further back behind Derek. He feels dirty and violated, and he hates that the jump in his heartbeat only causes the alpha’s grin to grow wider.

As much as Stiles wants to respond with a verbal assault, he knows Derek would be pissed that he’s making himself more of a target for a potential retaliatory attack.

There’s a moment of tense silence as each pack sizes each other up. 

Derek growls, low and menacing, when the alpha takes a step forward. Unfortunately, Derek’s warning only seems to egg the alpha on as the corners of his mouth pull up into a cocky smirk that Stiles has half a mind not to smack off his smug face. “My name is Adrian. These,” he says as he gestures to the two people behind him, “are Willow and Kai. My betas.” 

Derek growls again, more threatening this time. Adrian is obviously an idiot for ignoring the clear warning. Stiles tightens his fist around the pocketful of mountain ash, momentarily considering whether or not to use it—if only to protect the moron parade in front of them.

Adrian backs away with his palms up in surrender, but still looks around Derek like he doesn’t even care that he’s there. “You must be Stiles. I heard you were a badass spark. I’m surprised to see you hiding behind an alpha. Especially one so...” He looks Derek up and down appraisingly. “ _Unassuming_.”

Stiles’s first instinct is to tell him where he can shove those pathetic excuses for claws because Derek’s not just _any_ alpha, Derek is _his_ alpha. Before he can open his mouth, however, Erica beats him to it.

“He already has an alpha, dick breath,” Erica spits, balling her hands into white-knuckled fists. “Stiles is right where he belongs. With Derek. With _us_.”

Of course, ass-for-brains over there just ignores her. Figures.

“Looks to me like he’s holding you back, little spark. If you join me, I’ll make sure you become the most powerful spark in the whole country. Other packs won’t stand a chance against us.”

Stiles scoffs. _Little spark?_ Seriously, fuck this guy. 

“Yeah, well, as much as I love douchey blondes in—” Stiles narrows his eyes to try to see better in the dark. “Nickelback t-shirts— _ugh_ , _seriously, dude?_ —I’m perfectly happy right here, so thanks but a big fat no thanks.” As much as Stiles hates his new relationship with Derek, he’ll take it over the douche-canoe in front of him. Not to mention that his life—his school, Scott, his _father_ —is here in Beacon Hills.

Adrian tilts his head appraisingly. Stiles hates how he looks at him. Like he’s an object to be acquired instead of a person. Stiles isn’t even surprised when Adrian puts on a smirk and juts out his hip as he leans against a nearby tree. Stiles rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time in the last twelve minutes. Is this guy seriously trying to _flirt_? That settles it. The second he gets home, he’s calling the guys at Merriam-Webster and telling them to update the definition of ‘douche’ to include a picture of this guy.

“You know, Stiles,” he starts. Stiles assumes his tone is supposed to be seductive, but it just makes him sound like he has a cold. “You’re actually pretty cute. We’d look good together. I’m sure you’ll make an _excellent_ mate.” He flashes his teeth in an unhinged smile.

Derek snarls more menacingly than Stiles has ever heard in all the years they’ve known each other. His instincts scream at him to comfort his alpha, so he steps forward and places a soothing hand on Derek’s back, directly on top of the triskele tattoo he got the year after he left. “Yeah, thanks, but I’d rather eat my own hand. I mean, no offense or anything, but you’re like a knock-off Ken doll from Creeps-R-Us.”

Adrian clearly doesn’t appreciate the quip because his features suddenly harden into a mask of fury as he takes a determined step forward. “Maybe I wasn’t asking.”

Stiles ignores the threat. It’s meaningless when he has Derek and the betas to protect him. Still, he doesn’t care for the sneer on Adrian’s face, so he pulls the mountain ash out from his pocket. He doesn’t get a chance to throw it, however, because Derek lunges forward and slams Adrian back into a nearby tree, claws piercing the alpha’s jugular as he wraps a hand around his throat. 

“Let me make something _very_ clear,” Derek says, grinning maniacally, an unnerving air of almost deranged over-friendliness in his voice. “Stiles is _mine_. If you _ever_ so much as _think_ about laying a finger on him, I will hunt you down and kill everything you love. And when I’m finished with that, I will break every bone in your body until all that’s left of you is a pile of rotting flesh.” 

The two betas—whose names Stiles has already forgotten—share a frantic, terrified look and step back, cowering in fear. Too bad Adrian isn’t that smart. If anything, he seems more pissed than scared. 

_Fucking idiot_.

Stiles watches Derek’s muscles flex as his grip tightens around Adrian’s throat. He’s never seen Derek react like this before—even when the betas were being threatened by their own big bads in the past.

“Derek, let him go,” Stiles pleads. “You’re gonna kill him. Come on, Der, you know he’s not a threat. Look at him. He’s pathetic. He’s like two seconds away from _crying_.” It’s a lie. He knows Adrian’s eyes are only watering because Derek’s crushing his windpipe, but Stiles will be damned if Derek goes to jail over _this guy_. “Derek. _Please_. _For me_.” 

As soon as the words leave Stiles’s lips, Derek immediately loosens his grip and Adrian crumples to the ground pathetically, gasping ruggedly in a desperate attempt to get air back into his lungs.

Once he catches his breath, Adrian growls, clearly furious with Stiles’s assessment of him. He opens his mouth to speak, but his betas start pleading with him before he can get a word out. 

“Adrian, don’t. _Please_ ,” the woman—lean, with mousy features and bottle-blonde hair—begs. “He clearly doesn’t want to join our pack and, even if he was, the others would stop us. Let’s just go.”

  
“This wasn’t what we signed up for,” the scrawny, meek man—clearly no older than nineteen—calls out. 

Stiles has to hold in a snort. Did these morons seriously think they’d be able to get past Derek and the betas? He can’t help but grin at the thought of this poor kid trying to hold his own against Erica.

Adrian turns back and assesses his betas before shooting Stiles and Derek a menacing scowl. He grits out a petulant “ _fine_ ” after what he must deem to be an acceptable amount of glaring. The surrender is clearly reluctant, but Stiles counts his blessing and watches gratefully as the three werewolves slink off.

“Follow them,” Derek growls out as soon as they’re out of sight. “Don’t come back until you see them leave Beacon Hills with your own eyes.” Once Derek dismisses them, the betas run off, sniffing the air to track which direction they ran off in.

Despite Adrian’s absence and an angry Erica on their tail, Stiles knows better than to think that Derek would leave him to get home on his own. He isn’t even surprised when Derek follows him as he makes his way back to the Jeep.

“Pretty sure I can make it on my own, Derek,” Stiles sighs, already knowing that logic won’t be enough to deter a stubborn alpha werewolf.

“They want you, Stiles,” Derek grits out, his voice pained. “They could double back and try to take you away from me.”

“Yeah, and you have the betas following them,” Stiles rolls his eyes, ignoring the last two words of Derek’s sentence. “So again, pretty sure I can make it to my Jeep on my own.” Stiles is so distracted by his efforts to prove his competence and survival skills that he doesn’t notice the exposed root in front of him. His foot catches on the mossy protrusion and he immediately starts to faceplant. 

Derek catches him by the back of his shirt and carefully stabilizes him. “You can barely walk two steps without tripping,” he huffs. “The last thing I need is for you to get hurt.”

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbles miserably. “It’s not like you even care.”

Derek growls but doesn’t say anything. 

They walk in silence until they get to the clearing, where Stiles’s baby blue 1985 CJ-5 is parked next to Derek’s sleek black Camaro. 

Stiles hops into his Jeep and waits. There’s no point trying to race off, he knows Derek is planning to follow him home, and taking off would only serve to piss Derek off. Normally, Stiles would take some pleasure in riling him up, but tonight has been exhausting, and he wants nothing more than to go home and become one with his mattress. 

Derek flashes his headlights, signaling that Stiles can leave now. He rolls his eyes and hopes, with everything in his calloused, barbed heart, that Derek sees it. 

Stiles does his best to ignore the Camaro that’s currently tailing him as he drives home. He continues to ignore it when he parks in front of his house and it pulls up behind him. Luckily, his dad’s cruiser is in the driveway which means there’s less of a chance for Derek to try and barrel his way in under the guise of keeping an eye on him. Thank God for small miracles. 

When Stiles steps out of his Jeep, he doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder and waving goodbye. They’re not friends anymore. In fact, they can barely stand to make eye contact with each other as it is. Derek is just a good alpha, ensuring the safety of his emissary. That’s all.

So why does Stiles wish it were more?

* * *

The next morning, Stiles finds that he can’t stop his thoughts from drifting to Derek and reaction to Adrian’s threats. Sure, Derek’s gotten pissed before, but never to the point of almost _killing_ someone. In fact, Derek is basically werewolf Gandhi in the eyes of other supernaturals, considering he absolutely refuses to hurt another person unless they pose an immediate threat to him or his pack. Most other ‘wolves tend to kill first and ask questions later, but not Derek. Derek has always been different.

It’s a quiet, peaceful afternoon—the kind of October air that feels heavy with nostalgia and the weightlessness of youth. The cloudless sky is bright blue and a few of the neighborhood dogs have settled outside in their yards, yipping halfheartedly at the occasional passing squirrel or chipmunk. Stiles spends the day playing video games and relaxing with the windows open, letting the cool autumn breeze wash over him. 

By the time dusk approaches and stains the sky purple and amber, the easy calm of that afternoon has been replaced by an eerie sense of unease and weariness. Stiles tries to ignore the goosebumps that litter his arms, but it just serves to make him feel more antsy and unsettled. Something is looming in the darkness. He can _feel_ it.

Rather than stay in bed to spend yet another night feeling sorry for himself and staring at the faded glow-in-the-dark stickers that he’s never had the heart to take down, he decides to head outside and investigate. After all, Deaton is always telling him to listen to his instincts—and right now his instincts are telling him that something’s terribly amiss. Stiles figures it probably has to do with the wards he’d left in the preserve, so he grabs his car keys from his bedside table and heads downstairs. _There’s no better time than the present_. 

His dad’s not home so he makes sure to lock up behind him and leave a note that he’ll be back before morning so he better not find any pizza boxes in the trash when he gets back. 

_Just because I’m not here, doesn’t mean I won’t find out!_ _Remember the McRib incident of 2017?!_

Twenty minutes later, Stiles is pulling up to his usual spot in the preserve, tires crunching over dried leaves and splintered twigs. Once he double-checks that he didn’t forget anything of use to him, he hops out of the Jeep and starts walking westward.

His runes look intact, if a little faded, but they’re all still right where he remembers them. He thinks about the last time he reinforced them. It’s been at least a month, which would explain why he didn’t sense anyone crossing the territory. 

_Stupid, Stiles_ , he thinks to himself. _Things could have ended a lot worse if it was a real alpha who’d threatened us last night, instead of Malib-douche Ken and his pack of morons_. 

Oh, well. What’s done is done, and he’s out here fixing the problem, anyway. There’s no point in worrying about something that’s already been resolved. _Thanks to Derek_ , his mind provides, and Stiles absolutely does _not_ swoon over the show of strength that Derek exhibited last night.

Man, Derek would be fucking _pissed_ if he knew that Stiles came out here by himself. Once Stiles took on the role of emissary, Derek made him _promise_ he would never go anywhere by himself past sundown. Something about how other packs would see Stiles as a commodity now and that it wasn’t safe to wander off without a member of the pack. 

_Fuck that_ , Stiles thinks. _And fuck Derek and his stupid rules and his big dumb werewolf face...and muscles…and kaleidoscopic eyes. No! Bad Stiles! No horn-dogging it up over your alpha. Especially when he left for four years and thinks he can just come back and be all controlling and overbearing when you’d been getting along just fine without him._

Stiles is smart and capable and a total badass, damn it! He can do this. He can come out after dark and re-charge these runes, and then he’ll drive to the loft and rub it in Derek’s annoyingly pretty face tomorrow. Besides, it’s not like Stiles is a helpless human. He’s a _spark_ , after all. And the pack emissary. He’s got this.

Stiles successfully re-energizes the first two runes— _ha! Take that, Sourwolf—_ and starts walking the boundary to the next one. After a few steps, he feels a prickling on his skin and something tells him he’s being watched. No, _followed_. Part of him hopes it’s just Derek coming to berate him for deliberately disobeying him, but Stiles knows better than to think he would ever be that lucky. No, this is something worse. This is vicious and sadistic. This is _danger—_ pure, unadulterated danger. Stiles closes his eyes and feels his spark thrum panickedly—a clear warning. He’s not just being watched. He’s being _hunter_. Stiles is _prey_. 

“Who’s out there?” Stiles murmurs to his spark, holding out his palms and concentrating until they start to illuminate his surroundings. 

The attack comes from behind before Stiles even registers someone approaching. Something twists his arms behind his back and throws him against a looming oak tree. He can’t fight back—can’t even _think_ right now. He’s never felt so helpless before in his life.

Suddenly, he feels something pierce the thick meat of his shoulder. Fuck. It _burns_ —really fucking burns, and it takes everything inside him not to collapse as his vision goes white. 

When he comes to a few moments later, he’s still being restrained by whatever supernatural asshole decided that Stiles would make a good dinner. 

_Of-fucking-course this is happening to him because this is life and things can never just turn out how they were planned_. Stiles groans miserably and squeezes his eyes shut when a gnarled piece of bark pierces the soft skin of his stomach. _Why does the universe get a hard-on from constantly screwing him over? God, his life is a shit tornado_.

Stiles is pressed further into the trunk and his attacker drapes himself over his aching back, panting hot, rancid breaths onto the nape of his neck. He manages to turn his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the assailant and snarls. _Of course_.

“Adrian,” he grits out.

“Miss me?” Adrian mocks smugly.

“Yeah, about as much as I miss the time I had food poisoning,” Stiles growls. 

“Told you you’d be mine,” Adrian smirks, leaning in so his fetid, humid breath fans over the delicate shell of Stiles’s ear.

“Fuck you,” Stiles spits out, trying to ignore the building pressure in the pit of his stomach as his shoulder continues to burn. The skin there is on fire—like someone had stuck him with a cattle brand.

This is bad. This is really fucking bad. If it had just been a minor scrape, Stiles would have been able to heal himself by now—a skill he learned soon after Derek had returned, so he could limit the amount of times Derek would have to touch him. 

“That’s no way to speak to your alpha, little spark,” Adrian patronizes smarmily. 

“You’re not my fucking, alpha!” Stiles barks. He’s starting to feel dizzy. His shoulder is throbbing so violently that he’d swear it has its own heartbeat right now.

“Pretty sure this bite says otherwise,” Adrian says cockily.   
  
_Bite?_

This whole time, Stiles had thought that Adrian had just clawed him. But a _bite_? _God, this guy is even stupider than he thought_.

“Oh, you fucking _idiot_! You actually _bit_ me?! Are you seriously that stupid?!” Stiles tries to push back against Adrian, but it’s useless at the moment. He doesn’t have the strength of a werewolf. _Yet_. “You realize I’ll lose my spark, right? As soon as the bite takes, I’ll lose my ties to the land! I can’t be a werewolf _and_ a spark, you complete dumbass!”

“What?” Adrian abruptly loosens his hold on him, and Stiles takes the opportunity to wrench away and turn to face him. “You worthless little rat!” Adrian hisses. “You were supposed to be the key to accessing the Hale land. You’re useless to me now!”

“ _Useless?_ ” Stiles barks out a dry laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you, considering you couldn’t even turn me without fucking it up.”

Before Adrian can respond, Stiles throws his arms forward and starts reciting a spell that Deaton first showed him when he was fourteen. His spark isn’t gone yet—he still can feel it thrumming in his veins. As the pressure in his palms builds, an invisible force knocks Adrian off his feet, leaving him crumpled on the forest floor. Stiles uses his magic to keep Adrian pinned to the ground as he steps over him, seething with unrestrained fury. 

“You thought you could show up and attack me when I was alone. Like a _coward_. You wanted to bite me—make me yours—but I will _never_ belong to you. I already have an alpha.” Stiles leans in and murmurs his next words almost eerily calm. “And, mark my words, when finds you, he’s going to make castration look like a fucking walk in the park compared to what he’ll do to you.”

As Stiles’s thoughts turn to Derek, he suddenly feels a sharp, acute pain ravage his every cell. He collapses to his knees, curling in on himself, and lets out a loud, broken scream as he feels his bond with Derek snap. On some level, he’s vaguely aware of Adrian standing up and making a move to leave. Stiles reaches a shaky hand out in an attempt to stop him, but the effort is futile. A jagged sob claws its way out of his throat before he finally gives in to the blinding pain and lets the darkness consume him.

* * *

Stiles arises with a pained groan—the heavy fog of unconsciousness lifting. He’s never felt so sore and exhausted in his entire life. He has no idea how much time has passed since he blacked out, but it’s still dark outside, so he figures it’s only been a couple of hours, at most.

The second he fully awakens and starts to absorb his surroundings, he wishes he’d never woken up. Everything is so _loud_. Even something as minute as the sound of a crunching leaf or the gentle puttering steps of a nearby chipmunk sound like a gong reverberating directly against his eardrums. 

His head turns wildly in every direction as he hears movement from what seems like _everywhere_. A rabbit to his left—no, wait. A deer. Yes, that’s it. And then, there’s the owl that just landed on a branch a few trees over. Or was it a sparrow? _Fuck._ He’s overwhelmed— _so very_ overwhelmed—and all he wants is to find Derek and curl into his arms while he makes all the bad noises go away. 

His only saving grace is the lack of light in the preserve, sparing his eyes of the same assault his eardrums are currently enduring. The moon is bloated and bright, but, thankfully, the light is muted behind the thick blanketing of trees that decorate the skyline.

God, how do werewolves live like this? It’s been less than five minutes and he can already feel the gnarled, jagged roots of a migraine planting themselves behind his corneas. He’s overwhelmed and scared and confused and _why is everything so loud?!_

He swallows back the tears that prick at his eyes and tries to ignore the fact that can now hear the sound of his own heartbeat as it thrums a frantic rhythm in his chest. 

Perhaps the most unsettling change of all, Stiles thinks, is that he can no longer feel the magic that has lit his soul on fire for as long as he could remember. His spark is gone. There’s no doubt about it. The microscopic vibrations that thrummed through his veins since he was born are just... _gone_. It’s unnerving and even a little heartbreaking if he thinks about it for too long.

_Derek_ , a voice supplies. Something instinctual tells him it’s his inner wolf. _Go find Derek. He’ll know what to do. He can make it better. Derek_ always _makes it better. He takes care of us. He’ll protect us. No one can hurt us ever again if we just find Derek._

Stiles rolls to his stomach pushes up off the ground, and stands, brushing off the dirt from his jeans. He scowls when he sees that the collar of his favorite Batman tee-shirt has torn down the middle. 

_Fucking Adrian_. 

After making himself look as decent as he possibly can— _for Derek_ , his wolf supplies—he heads off in the direction of his Jeep. 

After almost pulling the car door off its hinges with his newfound strength, Stiles makes a point to grip the steering wheel and gearshift as gently as possible before pulling out of the preserve and onto the main road.

He pulls up to Derek’s building twenty minutes later, parking next to Derek’s Camaro. His wolf practically drools at the sight— _that means he’s here. We’re so close. Gonna see Derek. Gonna see our alpha. He’ll make us feel better. He’ll protect us. Derek always protects us._

Stiles is frustrated and on edge as he stands in the elevator, listening as it creaks and groans, protesting the fact that it probably hasn’t been updated in decades. He tries focusing on the numbers climbing on the display, but it only serves to aggravate him more. This is taking too long. _Everything is taking_ _too long_. 

He needs Derek, needs his _alpha_. His wolf is practically whining in anticipation, thumping its tail wildly. 

As soon as the elevator doors open, he sprints down the hall to Derek’s door in record time but stops short when he sees that it’s already open. Derek _never_ leaves his door open—even when he’s expecting company. 

Stiles steps into the doorway carefully but rushes inside the second the smell hits him. It’s almost like one of those cartoons where the character smells something delicious and appealing and floats throughout the house, chasing it. The smell that hits him is heady and intoxicating, and Stiles can’t help the high-pitched moan that he releases when his feet carry him to Derek’s bed, where the smell is most concentrated. 

Just as he’s about to climb onto the mattress and smash his face in one of Derek’s pillows, he’s snapped out of his revelry when someone clears their throat from behind him. He blinks away the glassiness of his eyes and turns around until he’s met with three very confused betas standing just inside the entry. 

“You smell different.” Isaac’s brows are scrunched as he inhales deeply. “Why do you smell different?”

Erica pushes past Isaac. Her eyes flash gold as she scents the air. “Better question. Why do you smell like Adrian?”

Well, apparently basic greetings have completely flown out the window. Instead of answering, Stiles scans the room, looking for those familiar murder brows that both he and his wolf love so much. “Yeah, hello to you, too. Where’s Derek?” 

He tries again when he’s met with silence. “Um. Have you guys forgotten how to speak?” 

Erica crosses her arms as she assesses him with a calculating gaze. Her light brown eyes fixate on his ripped collar as she answers, “We’re not sure.”

“He ran out of here a couple of hours ago. We tried following him but he was shifted,” Boyd added. _And a shifted Derek is hard to keep up with_. The words go unsaid but everyone knows them to be true. 

“What about following his scent?” Stiles suggests. He marches back over to Derek’s bed and holds up his pillow. He can’t help but take a deep breath, eyes glazing over once again as Derek’s heady scent washes over him, eliciting a whimper. 

“Why are you even here, Stiles?” Isaac asks. He often likes to poke at the open wound in Stiles’s chest when it comes to his relationship with Derek, and how perfectly clear Derek makes it that Stiles isn’t really wanted there. 

Stiles clenches his jaw and balls his fists. He might be a new werewolf, but, after his experience with helping Scott when he first turned, he manages to control himself from shifting. “You know you can be a real asshole sometimes, Lahey.” He huffs, clutching Derek’s pillow a little closer to his chest.

“No, I mean how did you know to come here? That something was wrong and that it had to do with Derek especially.” Isaac’s face is a mask of genuine concern and his heartbeat has remained steady the entire time he was speaking— _holy shit, I can hear heartbeats now!_ Huh. Maybe Isaac’s not a _total_ dick.

“I didn’t. I—” Stiles sucks in a breath. He doesn’t really want to explain what happened. He’s already trying not to freak out about Derek’s absence and the fact that he’ll probably no longer want to keep Stiles around now that he’s no longer an easily-controllable human encyclopedia. “Look, I just need to find Derek, okay?” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, growing more and more restless by the second. 

“Yeah, well, we’d all like to, considering he was practically feral when he’s left.” Erica gestures at the living room. Stiles’s eyes widen as he takes in the rips in the sofa, the overturned coffee table, and the gouges in the columns. 

_Feral?_ Stiles’s face falls and his lungs suddenly feel void of oxygen. “What happened?”

“We don’t know, exactly. We all crashed here after we left the preserve last night and then a few hours ago, he woke up screaming like he’d been stabbed or something. By the time we woke up and got to him, he was growling and snarling and already partially shifted. We tried to calm him down and ask him what happened but he attacked us and ran out.” Now that Stiles is really looking at her, Erica looks completely disheveled. She’s not crossing her arms like she usually does. Instead, she’s clutching her left arm to her chest protectively. Her shirt is also ripped and there are claw marks on her bicep.

“He roared your name and practically ripped the door off the tracks before he finally lost all sense of self and took off.” Isaac gestures towards the steel door, and Stiles now notices a new set of dents in it. “By the time we got downstairs, his clothes were in tatters on the ground and he was nowhere in sight.”

_Fuck_. It all makes sense now—why his wolf has been crying out for Derek since the second he woke up, why Derek had woken up yelling and attacked his own pack.

Everything suddenly falls into place, locking together like puzzle pieces. 

_They’re mates_. 

Up until now, Stiles had thought that the concept was a myth—an urban legend that their moms had entertained them with as kids when they couldn’t fall asleep—but it’s the only possible explanation for Derek going feral and running off. 

If what the pack says is true, it happened around the time Stiles felt their bond break. It also explains why Derek’s always been protective of him, more so than anyone else. Not to mention how, even after Derek had left, Stiles could still feel him in his chest—coursing through his veins and keeping him going like a second heartbeat. Every interaction they had as children—every meaningful glance from across the room, every night they slept wrapped in each other’s arms, every time they could sense when the other one needed them, even from miles away—was because they were mates. And Derek _knew_. 

_That bastard!_

“Shit.” If they’re mates, then he needs to find Derek or risk going feral himself. “Okay. We need to focus. Where have you guys checked so far?”

Isaac explains how they followed Derek’s scent to Stiles’s house, and then the school, before it doubled back to the loft. They picked it up again, heading towards the sheriff’s station, but then it seemed like Derek’s scent was everywhere all at once, so they figured they’d check the loft again before splitting up to try and track him better. 

“And none of you thought to call me?!” Stiles asks incredulously. Did he have to do everything around here?!

“Yeah, no offense, but Derek would kill us.”

Stiles huffs when he realizes that Isaac’s right. If Derek’s not there to protect him, then Stiles should never be involved—it’s always been Derek’s number one rule. God, how did Stiles not realize that they’re mates? All the clues were there, but he was too consumed by his own grief and anger—spending so much of his time pushing Derek away—to see what was right in front of his face. 

“Okay, well, I’m here now. The plan stays the same—”

“No.” Boyd shakes his head as he fixes Stiles with a stony expression. “We’ll stick together now. Whatever is going on clearly involves you. If we stick with you, something tells me that Derek will find us.”

Forty minutes and one panic attack later—he may be a wolf now, but he’s still _Stiles_ —that’s exactly what happens. 

After Stiles calms down, they drive back out to the preserve. Stiles has a feeling Derek is tracking his scent and, sure enough, after ten minutes of walking, they hear something crashing through the trees. What appears, however, is unlike any version of Derek that Stiles has ever seen.

The Derek that stands before them is a hulking beast—neither wolf nor man. His eyes are crimson-red, and his fur is as black as the midnight sky. He towers over all of them easily—including Boyd, who’s 6’3. Despite the fact that Derek is unrecognizable in this form, Stiles still knows that it’s Derek— _his_ Derek. His _mate_. It’s mostly due to instinct—Stiles would recognize Derek no matter what. He gets his confirmation when the pack steps forward minutely and greets him by name.

“Derek.” Isaac holds his hands up, looking apprehensive as he takes another step forward, but stops in his track when Derek snarls.

“ _Fuck._ He hasn’t shifted like this in _years_ ,” Erica whispers to herself, but Stiles still hears.

Stiles’s gaze snaps over to her. “You’ve seen him like this before?!”

Erica opens her mouth to answer but their attention is diverted when Derek growls at Isaac. 

“Isaac, stop. You’re too close. It’s upsetting him.” Stiles steps forward to grab Isaac but Erica pulls him back. Derek roars angrily and charges towards them. Erica jumps out of the way at the last second and, before Stiles even knows what’s going on, he’s suddenly crushed to Derek’s chest. 

Stiles knows that, logically, he should be scared. He should be trying to run away from the towering beast currently holding on to him with a vice-like grip, but he just... _can’t_. This is Derek, and Derek would never, _ever_ hurt him. Even now, Stiles knows he could still get out of his grip if he really wanted to. Derek wouldn’t stop him if it was what he wanted. Except that’s not what he wants—not when both he _and_ his wolf feel more settled than they have all night. He buries his fingers in Derek’s fur and smiles up at him, craning his neck back so he could see Derek’s face.

“Hey, big guy,” he whispers softly—adoringly. 

Somehow, even though Derek is still growling lowly towards the pack, Stiles can tell that he's calmed significantly. 

That is, until Boyd steps closer. 

Derek pushes Stiles behind him—firmly, but still gently—and puffs out his chest, making himself look bigger. He clearly still considers the pack a threat. The thought makes Stiles roll his eyes. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. If Derek had given him the mating bite like Stiles knows he must have wanted to—which, now that he thinks about it, is most likely the reason Derek had always pressed his teeth to Stiles’s neck—then they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. The bond between mates wouldn’t have broken like their bond as alpha and emissary.

Not to mention the years of heartbreak that Stiles had been forced to endure. He spent the better part of six years thinking that Derek didn’t want him. This is so much more than infuriating and devastating than Derek being a self-sacrificing idiot. 

Stiles runs a hand down Derek’s back soothingly and peeks around him to look at the pack. “Go. We’ll be okay. We’ll be fine. I’ve got him.” He rubs at Derek’s lower back and holds back a smirk when some of the tension leaves Derek’s body and he rumbles happily.

“Stiles,” Erica warns, shaking her head and moving to retrieve him. Stiles scowls and sighs tensely when Derek’s spine goes rigid again. Every little movement she makes has Derek growling again as he grows more and more agitated. 

Thankfully, Boyd grasps her elbow and pulls her back. “I think we all know that he’s not going to hurt Stiles.” They share a look that’s clearly indicative of two people who no longer require words to communicate. 

After a few moments, she relents. “Okay.” She looks over at Stiles and nods. “He should be fine by morning. We’ll come check on you then.”

As soon as the pack is a good distance away, Derek turns to him and fixes his ruby irises on Stiles’s small frame. His imposing figure doesn’t scare Stiles. Not even when Derek leans in, and his muzzle gets perilously close to Stiles’s jugular. Just knowing that Derek could easily rip his throat out with his teeth—but won’t—sends an involuntary shiver down his spine and he instinctively bares his neck, giving Derek more room to explore.

Derek makes a pleased sound that immediately gets drowned out by the sound of fabric ripping as he tears Stiles’s clothes off until he’s left standing in his boxers. 

“Hey!” Stiles mutters protests, but they die down as soon as Derek starts rubbing against him, clearly scent-marking him. _Claiming_ him. 

Derek releases a soothing rumble-purr that Stiles hasn’t heard in _years_. It’s calming and takes Stiles back to a time when their lives were uncomplicated—a time when it was just them, chasing each other around the perimeters of the Hale backyard. 

“You should have told me, Derek,” Stiles murmurs around a whine, his eyes shutting involuntarily as Derek licks a long stripe up the column of his neck. He could go on all night about how angry he is that Derek kept this from him. He has years of hostility and resentment that he could unleash. But, the thing is, Stiles understands why Derek never said anything—why Derek had insisted on keeping him at an arm's-length. 

Aside from Stiles, Derek has lost everyone important to him. He probably felt like pushing Stiles away would make it hurt less if anything happened to him too.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek as tightly as he can with how much bigger Derek is in this form. He’s not sure exactly how much Derek can understand right now, but he still feels the need to reassure him that everything is okay now. “I’m alright, Der. You didn’t lose me, okay? I’m here—I’m here now—and I’m okay. I promise. And I’m never going to leave your side—no matter how much you push me away once you go back to being human. Not this time. Not again.”

Derek pulls away slightly and stares at him. His expression is unreadable for a moment, but Stiles doesn’t have time to interpret it before Derek’s head snaps to the right sharply.

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to focus on what Derek heard, but, right now, everything is still so overwhelming that he can’t distinguish anything. 

His stomach suddenly rumbles and Derek’s head snaps back towards him. He places a clawed hand—paw?—on Stiles’s stomach, and chuffs. Stiles doesn’t have a chance to wonder what it means before Derek bolts. Stiles immediately follows.

This speed that he has now is amazing. He laughs as the wind whips at his face while he races through the preserve, chasing after his mate. He closes his eyes and whoops, pumping his fists in the air in joy, before abruptly colliding with Derek’s back. 

Derek turns around and fixes him with an almost recognizable look that Stiles knows means ‘ _Seriously?_ ’

Stiles snorts and shrugs. “Sue me. It’s cool. I actually ran after you without tripping over my own feet for the first time, so put the murder brows away and just be happy that _I’m_ happy.”

It’s not like Derek can answer, so Stiles isn’t sure what he’s waiting for. It’s definitely not for Derek to take off again. Instead of just chasing after him automatically this time, Stiles actually pays attention to what Derek does. 

His snout is raised and twitching, sniffing the air, and his movements are precise and graceful. After a few moments, Stiles realizes that he’s tracking something. 

Stiles manages to keep up with Derek fairly easily and slows to a stop as soon as Derek does—even managing not to run into him this time. He crouches on the ground and keeps as still and quiet as he possibly can while he watches Derek pounce on the unsuspecting buck. It’s larger than any buck Stiles has ever seen before, because _of course_ it is. 

_Show off_.

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat that,” Stiles says, as Derek hauls it over. “I prefer my venison to be cooked.”

Derek grunts and all Stiles sees is a clawed hand—paw?—raise in the air, and he quickly turns away before he can see Derek gut the poor creature. 

Derek’s _providing_ for him—showing Stiles’s wolf that he's strong and worthy of keeping him safe, happy, and well-fed—which means he’s _definitely_ going to eat it, just as soon as they cook it. His wolf howls at their mate's beautiful offering. 

Stiles starts gathering an armful of twigs and dried leaves. He clears a little area for his pile and arranges it to his liking so that they can light a small fire with the matchbook he keeps in his back pocket—something he started doing regularly after the time they’d been hunting a pack of trolls that could only be killed by fire. There’s hesitation in Derek’s eyes when he sees the flame, but he must still have enough sense to know that Stiles can’t eat raw meat. 

As it cooks, crackling over the fire, Stiles walks around and lets his eyes wander over the ground. Derek has already shown that he can provide for him. Now it’s Stiles’s turn to show he can provide for Derek—that _he’s_ worthy. 

A large rabbit catches his eye almost immediately. 

Stiles crouches to the ground and observes it for a while, trying to anticipate its movements. His shift to _predator_ is automatic as he springs forward—surprisingly graceful, especially for Stiles—and pounces on top of it, letting his claws break free so he can make the kill as quick and painless as possible, for both of their sakes.

Once he’s done, he cradles the rabbit to his chest, holding it preciously and silently thanking it for its sacrifice as he carries it back to the fire. 

Derek joins him a moment later, coming up behind him and placing his hands on Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles looks up and holds his arms out as he presents his offering to his mate. Derek smiles and licks a long stripe up his face, clearly incredibly proud of Stiles. It makes something inside of him warm, lighting him on fire and coursing through his veins. 

Stiles sets the rabbit next to the buck before plopping down next to the fire and picking at the meat that is already cooked over the flames. It’s rich and earthy. The first bite makes his stomach grumble again, and he quickly eats his fill. 

As soon as he’s done, Derek pushes him back into a bed of leaves and hovers over him. 

Derek’s snout pushes at his chin, and Stiles tilts his head back instinctually. He’s not worried about Derek biting him—not even when he feels the press of Derek’s canines against his shoulder. It’s so reminiscent of when they were younger and Derek would bite gently, not leaving a mark. Only now Stiles knows its significance. 

_Mating bite_.

“You better remember all this in the morning, sourwolf. I’m taking this as a promise. We’re _mates_ , Derek. This is me saying yes. I want you to bite me and mark me as yours. I want you to claim me.”

Derek rumbles and rubs their cheeks together before hoisting Stiles up like he’s nothing more than a ragdoll. Stiles rolls his eyes fondly. “I thought being a werewolf would make it harder for you to toss me around like a ragdoll.”

Derek smirks and sets him on the ground, curling around him and engulfing him in warmth. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt in years, so it’s not a total surprise that he falls asleep in seconds. 

* * *

The light is bright as it peeks through the trees. Stiles opens his eyes, still floating in that space where he’s not quite awake yet. There’s movement behind him, and it’s Derek’s warmth pulling away from him that fully jolts him to reality.

“D’rek?” Stiles sits up and clears his throat as he shivers slightly. He’s not really cold, his core temperature is higher now as a werewolf, but the brisk air is still shocking to his system after losing the heat against his back.

There’s something about the way Derek is looking at him that makes Stiles pause. His face is closed off and his muscles are rigid and tense, like he’s on guard. Derek’s either bracing for an attack or preparing to run—a classic Derek move. 

_Brooding asshole for $300, Alex_.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Stiles reaches out and pulls Derek close. If he were human, Derek could easily rip out of his grip, but Stiles has werewolf strength now. Derek doesn’t seem surprised, which is a good sign that Derek remembers last night. “Stop pulling away. Stop _pushing_ me away!” Stiles had enough of this bullshit—of Derek leaving or holding him at arm's length. “You always leave—you walk away so easily, like I mean _nothing_ to you—and I’m the one left here missing you!”

Derek’s eyes narrow as he holds himself in a crouched position next to Stiles. “You think leaving you was easy?” Of course, Derek knows exactly what he’s talking about. “You think it didn’t hurt me too?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles spits back, ready to fight. He’s not backing down anymore, not when he knows that they’re mates—a fact Derek kept from him. “You left for _six_ years, Derek! And you never visited _once_.”

“You weren’t the only one whose heart broke that day, Stiles! _Do you know how hard it was to leave you?_ ” Derek yells, eyes wild. “I love you, Stiles. I’ve _always_ loved you. You’re my _mate!_ Wolves aren’t built to just walk away from their mates like that. It went against every fiber of my being. But I still left—not because I wanted to, because _I had to!_ ”

Stiles swallows thickly, too shocked at Derek’s confession. Derek loves him. 

Derek _loves_ him!

Before he can even open his mouth to respond—wanting to know why Derek never said anything, why he’s never fought for them before—Derek continues.

“It was devastating. It took an entire month before I stopped trying to run away from the pack and come back to you. They had to _physically_ _restrain_ me on full moons because my wolf would take over and attack anyone who got in my way. The day I left, and you cried out for me, I couldn’t control my shift and they had to sedate me until we got there. I woke up screaming your name!”

Stiles reels from the overwhelming rush of emotions as Derek continues speaking, reminding _why_ he had to go. Guilt eats at him because he’s always known that Derek never really wanted to leave him, but the true depth of Derek’s pain is something Stiles selfishly never thought of. Stiles was so consumed by his own hurt and grief at being left behind that he never once thought of what Derek went through that day, or every day after. 

Once Derek stops to take a breath, Stiles can’t help but blurt out the words he’s held in for so long, “I love you, too!” There have been six years of pain and resentment, and Derek deserves to know why Stiles built a brick wall between them. 

Derek sucks in a surprised breath. Of course, Derek would be surprised. Stiles has been nothing but standoffish since Derek returned. He’s spent the last two years guarding his heart and putting on a disinterested front. 

But not anymore. Everything is out in the open now that Stiles knows the truth. 

They’re mates, Derek loves him. 

There’s no way Stiles lets him go. Not ever again.

“Claim me,” he says firmly. “You want to. I know you do, Derek. Ever since we were kids, you always did the thing.” Stiles brushes his fingers down the side of his neck. “You claim me and then I’ll claim you, like we should have done years ago.”

Stiles pushes up, presses two palms on Derek’s chest, and knocks him back until his bare ass hits the damp earth. He crawls onto Derek’s lap with the intention of baring his neck, ready to be claimed. Except, now that he’s so close, Stiles is hit with the pure, unadulterated scent of _Derek_. He can’t help but shove his face into the crook of Derek’s neck. 

_God, he smells amazing!_

He becomes acutely aware that he’s mostly naked and that Derek is _very_ naked. 

So very naked. 

His dick jumps and the back of his boxers dampen. Stiles’s eyes go wide in horror. “What the—” He rises to his knees and looks behind him—at his ass—in confusion. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me right now.”

“It’s okay.” Derek’s words are slurred around his fangs. “It’s slick. I’m an alpha and you’re my mate. It’s your body getting you ready for me.”

“Ready for you?” Derek thrusts up, and Stiles gasps when he feels Derek, hard, beneath him. He blushes furiously at the implication. “ _Oh_.” His mind is too fogged over with want to really question anything leaking from his ass, and before Stiles realizes it, his chest is rumbling in pleasure and satisfaction as he runs his nose along Derek’s jaw. 

“ _Stiles_ …” Derek’s grip tightens on his hips as Stiles writhes against him. 

Stiles pants, whining as he strains for a little bit of friction. It’s simultaneously too much and not _nearly_ enough. Derek just smells so fucking _good_. “Can’t help it. Feels so good, Der.”

Derek rubs a hand down his back, shushing him. “I know, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just take it slow.”

_Slow?_ Stiles doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Especially when Derek’s scent intensifies, getting sweeter. “But you smell so good. Do I smell this good to you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Derek hisses as Stiles licks a stripe up the side of his neck. If that’s the case, he has no idea how Derek’s been able to control himself. 

Stiles smirks and pulls back as he rolls his hips. The friction sends a shiver down his spine, and Stiles moans wantonly—high and practically pornographically. 

Derek snarls. His arms tighten around Stiles, clutching him desperately like a vice. “ _Mine._ ” 

There’s no way Stiles can pull himself away to peel off his boxers, but he’s desperate for Derek in a way he’s never experienced before. It’s more than a sleepless night where he jacks off, guiltily thinking about him. This is a _need_. 

He rips the offending article off, and Derek mutters a curse. “ _Christ_ , Stiles.” Derek’s trail over his back as he tries to slow him down. “There’s no rush now, baby.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles says, but there’s no heat behind his words. It’s more of a breathy moan as Derek’s fingers prod at his slicked hole—that’s definitely going to take some getting used to. He looks back and bites his bottom lip as he watches Derek slowly finger him. _Fuck!_ As hot as it is, Stiles wants Derek’s dick in him yesterday. “I can take it, Der. ‘M ready.”

Of course, Derek still tries to go slow but Stiles swats his hand out of the way as he sinks down onto Derek’s dick. His legs shake as he holds himself up, giving himself only a few seconds to adjust to this new sensation. It’s not really necessary though. The slick helps immensely, and they fit together so perfectly.

Derek’s hands knead his ass, spreading him open as Stiles starts rocking his hips. 

God, Derek’s dick is in his ass and they haven’t even kissed yet!

“Der?” Stiles puffs little breaths of hot air over Derek’s face as he presses their foreheads together. 

Derek’s face is screwed up in intense concentration. His only answer is a grunt as Stiles lifts off of him and drops back down. 

“Derek,” Stiles says more forcefully until Derek opens his eyes. “I love you.”

Derek’s hand slips up his back and grips the nape of his neck. He closes the distance, crushing their lips together. It’s their first kiss and the swell of emotions makes Stiles whimper against Derek’s lips. He’s wanted this for so long and, even though they’re in an incredibly intimate position—with Stiles fully seated on his dick—Derek seems almost shy about it—kissing him sweetly and holding him gently enough to allow Stiles the chance to pull back if he wants. 

Stiles rolls his eyes fondly and pulls Derek even closer—threading his fingers through Derek’s hair and deepening the kiss with the force and passion of two lovers who have been separated by distance and miscommunications. 

Stiles’s pulse thrums when they break apart for air, and Derek whispers a ragged, “I love you, too. God, I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles shudders at the intensity of his emotions. He whimpers and drops his head to Derek’s shoulder. “Derek, please. I need— I, I—”

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Stiles cork-screws his hips and clenches around Derek in desperation for more. “Need you to fuck me. ‘M so close. Wanna cum.”

Derek’s hand settles on his ass, and he’s lifted momentarily. The movement has him instinctively wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist. Once Derek settles back down, Stiles is sitting on Derek’s crossed legs. 

His mouth parts in a soft gasp as they rock together in perfect rhythm. Derek is so deep, fills him so well, that Stiles’s mind clouds over with pleasure. 

Stiles feels the familiar tingle run through his body, only this time, his gums also itch. His fangs drop, and he wants to bite, mark, _claim_. As his orgasm crashes over him, causing his dick to pulse rhythmically between them, he bites into the meaty flesh of Derek’s shoulder. 

“ _Stiles!_ ” Derek holds him close, continuing to grind into him. “Mine. My mate. My Stiles.”

“M’yours.” Stiles breathes hard, panting into the crook of Derek's neck. “Always yours.”

“Gonna knot you.” 

Stiles’s eyes go wide. Knots? He’d read about them, but like mates, he thought they were a myth. “Holy shit! I didn’t know knots were real!”

Derek kisses him again, hot and insistent. Stiles can’t help but moan when his hole stretches even more as Derek’s knot swells. It catches on his rim a few times before Derek can no longer pull out.

The kiss is broken and Stiles cries out when Derek bites him. He feels a momentary flash of pain—quickly replaced by an intense, all-consuming rush of pure ecstasy and bliss, making him moan deeply. Their bond snaps into place—a connection so powerful and bright that Stiles has no idea how they’ve ever lived without it.

They clutch at each other as they come down from the mutual highs of their new mating bond. 

The moment is interrupted by the sound of footfalls growing closer. Stiles tenses, but Derek rubs a soothing hand down his back. “It’s the pack.”

Stiles remembers the night before and Erica’s promise to check on them this morning. He wishes he had a better handle on his senses to have distinguished them from strangers, but soon they’re close enough that he recognizes Isaac’s voice calling out through the trees. “Oh, come on. I don’t need to see _that!_ ”

Stiles is only mildly embarrassed by their current situation—Derek’s knot still in his ass, locking them together. Thankfully, he can’t see anyone, so he’s hopeful that Isaac was lying and can’t actually see them either. The scent of their sex permeates the air—even to his untrained nose—so it wouldn’t be hard to guess what they’re doing.

Erica’s melodic laughter floats through the trees. “Speak for yourself. I’ve been waiting for them to get their heads out of their asses.” She makes a noise of protest and yelps. Stiles laughs, burying his face in the crook of Derek’s neck as he imagines Boyd dragging her away. “Congratulations!” she yells out, her voice drowning out the further away she gets. 

Stiles startles when Isaac speaks again, having assumed that he’d left with the others. “Just letting you know that the other pack took care of Adrian. They didn’t like that he forced the bite on Stiles, and promised that they won’t bother us again.”

“Thank you, Isaac.” Derek’s voice is lighter than Stiles has heard in a while, like he no longer wears the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah. But seriously, congratulations. We’re happy for you guys.”

Stiles’s lips quirk up in a smile but he doesn’t say anything as Isaac walks away and he can no longer hear the crunch of leaves. “So, uh, how long until—” he whistles as he points down, indicating Derek’s knot in his ass— “goes down?”

“I’m not sure. This is a first for me.” Derek looks annoyed at not having an answer. It brings Stiles joy, as it always does when Derek is irked about something.

It’s temporary though, quickly replaced with nervousness as he imagines swarms of people suddenly popping up out of nowhere, and seeing them. Stiles bites his lip as he looks around. “What if someone else comes? Sees us?” 

Stiles is grateful that Derek doesn’t laugh at him. Not that Derek laughs at him often. Typical Derek responses to Stiles are aggrieved sighs or exaggerated eye-rolls. Not this time though. Derek tips his chin back until they’re looking at each other. “We’re deep in the preserve, Stiles. No one is coming out here.”

“The pack did.” He feels vulnerable being out in the open like this, especially in such an intimate way with his mate.

“The pack was _looking_ for us,” Derek assures him. But, seeing as Derek knows him better than anyone—even after their separation—he knows that Stiles is going to need more reassurance than that. “Hey, look at me. I will _never_ let anyone touch you again. You’ll _always_ be safe with me. I would die before I let anyone hurt you.”

Stiles whines. He decides to listen to what his instincts are currently screaming at him to do and leans forward, licking over the mating bite on Derek’s shoulder. When he pulls back, he looks down at Derek and can’t help the goofy grin that spreads out across his face. “I love you.”

Derek looks up at him adoringly and brushes the hair away from his forehead. “I love you, too.”

“I’ve missed you so much, Derek.” Stiles’s voice breaks as he thinks about the past six years. 

Derek makes a pained noise and pulls him closer. The warmth of Derek’s palm settles on the back of his neck, gripping lightly—grounding him, anchoring him. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was so stupid. I thought I was protecting you. I never should have pushed you away like that. That wasn’t fair to you—to either of us.”

Stiles hears the shame and sadness in Derek’s voice and that is not okay with him. He absolutely will _not_ let Derek take all the blame for this. “No, Der, _I_ was the stupid one. I did it, too. I was hurt and angry and I acted out—even though I knew why you left.”

Derek buries his face against Stiles’s chest and shakes his head—which, knowing him, means he’s still feeling shame. “You’re not stupid, Stiles. Not even close. You’re so perfect. Perfect and beautiful. And mine. My _home_.” Derek’s arms tighten around him with the proclamations. “You’re mine, and I won’t ever let you go again.”

Stiles cradles Derek’s face in his hands and peppers kisses over his face as he rumble-purrs his approval. “My mate.”

“My heart,” Derek says, as he places his hand over Stiles’s heart. 

Stiles nods and presses his forehead against Derek’s. “My love.” 

His heart is completely full, and he’s finally at peace knowing that they’ll always be together.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments give me life <3  
> no like seriously, i’m addicted to them
> 
> i’ve got a [tumblr](http://evanesdust.tumblr.com/)


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